


Mistakes, Regrets and Happy Endings

by wickedrose16



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M, Fear not there is a light at the end of the tunnel…it’s Kate, I’ll tag more characters later, I’m not tagging Anthony/Siena, This is a Kathony love story, because it’s not about them, but it kinda still is, but it’s also a one way ticket to the Anthony Pain Train™, choo choo my dudes, sorry for the angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:26:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29456697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrose16/pseuds/wickedrose16
Summary: Kathony AU—100% Anthony POVWe all agree that the Bridgerton siblings share one braincell, possibly two, yes? Anthony was not in charge of either when he chose to marry Siena.Anthony was helpless to her whims. Their affair was heady and tumultuous. He was certain that it was love. He should have thought it a problem, being in love, but he could not think straight when Siena drove him to constant distraction. She made him feel needed. He took care of her. She relied on him. It reminded him so much of his responsibilities to his family, to his viscount title, which hardened his belief that their relationship was meant to be.He wondered occasionally, not with despair, but with determination, what it would mean for her, should he die. He was confident that making sure she was looked after, past his death, would be enough for her to be happy forever, even without him. He figured the only way he could guarantee this, would be to marry her.Regardless of scandal, he would not be swayed.If that wasn’t love, what was?
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Comments: 29
Kudos: 130





	1. Looking for Clues...

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by a tumblr post, @fuckfacetheunicorn. I started following you after I saw your post about what would happen if Anthony were to marry Siena. If you read fic, I hope I do your post justice. I would totally tag you on tumblr, but there are (unfortunately) certain people that follow me there that I don’t want to share my fics with. Not out of embarrassment, just preservation of self-esteem. They’ve never totally been supportive of my writing. 
> 
> Anyhoo, this first chapter is purely narration. Next chapter we get dialogue.

Since he was 18 years old, Anthony Bridgerton knew that he wouldn’t live beyond 38 years of age. The death of his father at that age, set his own fate into motion, or so Anthony convinced himself. Consequently, he decided to spend the preceding years, making the most of his privileged life.

Mind you, the life of a young viscount wasn’t free of stressors. In fact, he lived his life with Edmund Bridgerton’s ghost as his constant companion. The need to make his father proud was a lot of pressure that he had put upon himself as a young man. Still, Anthony prided himself in seeing his family so well looked after: his mother and seven siblings. He tried to do right by the tenants of his land, the servants he employed, and the requirements of parliament.

It was a damned difficult job.

So, when he found himself taking all of his victories and using them as excuses to indulge in the sinful pleasures of the flesh, he figured he was awarding himself for a job well done. He drank, gambled, boxed and spent countless hours in between the thighs of beautiful women. Some argued that he was slovenly; a rogue, a rake.

Anthony hadn’t disagreed; he thought the titles rather apropos. He reveled in it all, really.

Until he met Siena Rosso. She was dangerous—for a man of his station. He was obsessed from the moment he had heard her sing—a siren that seduced and _entrapped_.

Surely, men have died for less…

And Anthony was helpless to her whims. Their affair was heady and tumultuous. He was certain that it was love. He should have thought it a problem, being in love, but he could not think straight when Siena drove him to constant distraction. She made him feel needed. He took care of her. She relied on him. It reminded him so much of his responsibilities to his family, to his viscount title, which hardened his belief that their relationship was meant to be.

He wondered occasionally, not with despair, but with determination, what it would mean for her, should he die. He was confident that making sure she was looked after, past his death, would be enough for her to be happy forever, even without him. He figured the only way he could guarantee this, would be to marry her.

Regardless of scandal, he would not be swayed.

If that wasn’t love, what was?

***

Violet Bridgerton, albeit as happy for her son as she could have possibly been, was quick to remind him of the sensitive circumstances of their union before the wedding took place. She relayed how it was being viewed and gossiped about, amongst those in the ton. _This new, Lady Whistledown, having taken up an entire page of her column_. Persuaded him that the engagement shouldn’t be drawn out longer than necessary.

Oh, Anthony had _raged_ —raged about every foul word and remark made about his _love_. He seethed at the dishonor to his station as viscount and the disrespect shown toward his fiancée. It was honorable. Still, it was Violet who got her way.

They were married in the spring of 1813.

He was certain that he had never felt as happy and elated as he was when he awoke that morning...

_Only_ —his bedroom windows rattled violently. He paused in confusion and took the time to listen to the noises being made in his apartments. He got up quickly to push aside his curtains, and he was greeted with a torrential rainstorm outside.

Anthony looked out towards the flooding streets in distress, overcome with an overwhelming sense of dread.

_Perhaps this should have been his first clue._

The ceremony was a quiet affair as far as numbers go. The only ones in attendance were his mother and siblings. They all strained to hear, flinching with each sound of the storm, which gave no reprieve—the cracks of lightning and rumbles of thunder overhead making it hard to hear, as vows were spoken.

There was no reception ball, only a simple dinner at Bridgerton House. Again, the invitation was not extended beyond those in his family’s most inner-circle of friends and a few members of parliament he closely associated with. Even then, his mother fretted over the regards of all those in attendance.

_Maybe this was his second clue._

Siena only laughed at the ludicrousness of etiquette and propriety that his mother insisted upon. She assured Anthony it was no matter, and they would celebrate in earnest, after the pleasantries of this _farce of a party_ , had ended. Anthony laughed along with her, indulging his wife’s feelings, but his role as his father’s progeny dictated that he too, catered to the etiquette and propriety that his new wife so detested.

He introduced the new Viscountess Bridgerton with pride, ignoring every subtle huff under her breath or groan of impatience, as she was introduced to another “stuffy” lady or “fat” lord. Anthony knew that Siena wasn’t at all to blame for her own annoyance; the simpering she displayed over-exaggerated or faked because the men and women were nothing short of hostile towards her; their noses upturned, and their smiles bitter as they bowed and curtsied, disingenuously. Their appalling behavior was nothing his wife could help, but he noted, _worryingly_ , that connections and impressions in high society were everything—in the end.

_This was definitely his third clue._

The real fighting began _during_ the only event they hosted in the 1813 season. This was not to say that Anthony and Siena hadn’t fought before. Despite it having been a couple of months into the marriage, it was well known in his family that they fought often. However, it was never with such vitriol spewing from their mouths—in public, no less.

Anthony knew it was imperative that the ball be successful. It was for Daphne, the year’s Diamond, after all. Her marriage prospects would only increase with her family’s name, status and successes, well enforced amongst the ton. In fact, being that it was the very first ball of the season, he knew it must be looked on with _fond_ memories, for all of those in attendance.

He especially knew that the dowager viscountess’ shoes were big to fill, but he hoped, in vain, that his wife would succeed in this, implored her to _try_. Nevertheless, it was of no surprise to anyone else, that the Viscountess Bridgerton’s feet, were much too small for such a task.

The night ended early; Violet’s face reddened in embarrassment, Daphne in tears, and his other siblings looking on with horrified amusement as the entire night fell apart. The anger the married couple held for one another, lobbed, in indecorous fashion, _for all to see._

As it turned out, it was the only event that Bridgerton house would host for many years.

_The deed was long done, and any clue thereafter, was of no use to Anthony._


	2. When First We Meet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any familiar dialogue belongs to Julia Quinn and TVWLM!

Time passes, the 1814 season arrives, and he is alone.

It had only took a handful of months into their marriage before they both agreed that it was a colossal mistake.

Siena resented him. _No_. She resented his title—loathed her own viscountess title even more—especially the responsibilities, restrictions, and lack of respect because of her born station, that came with it.

Love did not conquer all, and it gave way to a hatred that burned through both of them. It was bitter in his mouth; the _hatred_.

Granted, Siena hadn’t resented or hated his finances. She was gone on some Italian vacation, singing in a famed opera house—a new lover to accompany her on this grand adventure, _with his money_.

You would think he would have fought it more; if anything, for the shame it would bring him, and the embarrassment to his family, if her actions were to ever become known. However, it was the only reprieve he had had in months. He was tired of the fighting. Anthony was only grateful that she had a mind to be discreet about it when she finally left…

Unlike Daphne, his sister, Eloise, is _not_ named Diamond of the First Water for the 1814 season. No one is more relieved than Eloise, herself. Instead, it is a girl of Somerset, by the name of Edwina Sheffield.

Anthony had balked at Lady Whistledown’s anecdote of the Smythe-Smith Musicale where the young, Edwina Sheffield, swore not to accept any proposal without express approval of her suitor from her sister, Katharine Sheffield.

_His_ sister, leans heavily on his arm; her shoulders slouched as she shuffles her feet, making their rounds at the Hartfield Ball. Despite the fiasco of Daphne’s season before her marriage to Simon, Anthony still finds it necessary to whisper his disapproval of any man he knew to be unfit for his second sister. _It was only advice, after all_.

Fortunately, Eloise takes his words to heart more than Daphne had ever tried, and he is chuffed at Eloise’s attention to him. She snarks at all of these men and their inane attempts at conversation. For the most part, it is obvious that these men couldn’t or _wouldn’t_ try to keep up with a young woman like her, anyway.

Violet Bridgerton gives up halfway through the night, deciding to nurse several glasses of champagne as Eloise makes herself a happy wallflower by Penelope Featherington’s side. Anthony’s job considered done, he stands by himself, looking around and realizing he isn’t really needed at the ball any longer, nor does he want to be there. He decides on an escape to White’s, but he has to pause his leave of the ballroom when he finds himself being lulled into a delightful dressing-down of one, Nigel Berbrooke.

The young woman is turned away from him, but it doesn’t stop Anthony from hearing her reduce the lord to a sputtering mess of offense. Curious, Anthony listens closely. She speaks airily, as if commenting on the weather, all the while the poor sod gawps his mouth like a dying fish, as she effectively lays into him. Anthony holds his breath, to keep from laughing boisterously. After she finishes, he watches as Berbrooke mumbles his leave and turns on his heel, a fire lit under him as he runs away from the woman. She turns around to Anthony suddenly, and he sucks in the breath that he had been holding, any sly thought he might have spoken, vanishes, while taking in her face…

She has full lips, made bigger as she pouts—disgruntled at having had an audience. There is nothing particularly delicate or unique about her features, aside from a dimple beside her lip (he couldn’t help but note it fondly); she has a long face, with big eyes, a soft chin, straight nose and high cheekbones.

Anthony thinks her _beautiful_.

Her dark tresses are in ringlets, piled tall on her head, with deep brown eyes, and skin the color of red desert sands. He knows he is watching her with a slack jaw, so he quickly snaps it shut. Her pout transforms into a thin line of annoyance as she eyes him suspiciously.

He huffs an awkward laugh, having been caught staring, “Forgive me my lady, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop.”

She raises a brow before smirking, “Honesty. A rare trait, my lord. Since you are so honest, and admitted to eavesdropping—what did you think of my insulting of Lord Berbrooke? I’m assuming this is the time where you inform me that my place as a lady would show respect to a man of his station. Or perhaps, since you are an honest man, you would show me some leniency if I am honest in turn, and admit that I find the man to be highly insufferable.”

Anthony chokes on a laugh, “Nigel Berbrooke _is_ insufferable and a louse, besides. You did not tell him anything he didn’t deserve. My only question, is what instigated such disparaging remarks?”

She eyes him shrewdly before confessing, “Boredom, mostly.” Anthony doesn’t choke this time; he laughs loud and full. Her eyes widen as she looks around nervously, “People are staring, do contain yourself.”

He sobers and speaks without humor, “People always stare.”

“Not at me, they don’t.”

“Well that it is their loss.” She startles at his confession, and he grits his teeth at his lax tongue.

Anthony frowns before looking around, avoiding her curious gaze. Indeed, they are receiving a handful of glances and whispers as they stand on the outside of those who dance. The anger he feels toward these people, boils to the surface. Anthony was frustrated with all of those who had yet to cease their blathering about his _unfortunate_ marriage. They look on him with commiseration or arrogance, at having been right about his Viscountess Bridgerton. He squeezes his fists and tries to keep a neutral face. He notices that she is looking down at his hands with something akin to morbid fascination.

He clears his throat and is both surprised and unsure of why he asks his next question; it’s madness, surely. “Since we already have their attention, would you care to dance? It would give them something more to stare and gossip about.” He raises a brow challengingly.

She looks away from his hands, up to his face, and answers bluntly. “ _No_.” Her mouth turns down in distaste. “Absolutely not. Why in heavens would I want to do that?”

“ _Boredom, mostly_.” He grins slyly, throwing her words back in her face.

She rolls her eyes, “I am not _that_ bored, sir.”

“Pity that.” He looks away, having nothing else to say.

Anthony can feel her eyes on him, and he turns back to see her watching him calculatingly, as if measuring his worth. He looks at her curiously in turn, wondering what exactly it is that she’s thinking.

She sighs, as if put upon, “I suppose you’re really only doing this for my sister’s sake?” She raises her arm, upturning it to show her delicate wrist, where her dance card hangs limply.

He takes it and scribbles his name, “What do you mean?”

She sucks the back of her teeth in disapproval, “Don’t play daft; as with Lord Berbrooke, you too, wish to be in her good graces.”

Anthony feels like he’s missed an important part of their conversation, “I am nothing akin to Nigel Berbrooke, and I am highly offended you think so. Also, I do not know who your sister is; I have no need of her good graces, and I asked you to dance because I genuinely wished to dance with _you_.”

Her brows scrunch together before looking down at her card curiously. He sees the moment she recognizes his name, her face showing an awe of astonishment. “I see now. Well, the ton will most certainly gossip, Lord Bridgerton.”

He shrugs carelessly, “They never seem to stop—not in my case, anyway.”

“ _Pity that_.” She grins smugly.

Anthony’s returning smile is wide, enjoying their banter. “I am at at a disadvantage. You obviously know who I am. Perhaps I could have your name?”

“Katharine Sheffield. Kate, to my friends.”

“May I call you Kate, then?”

She scoffs a disbelieving laugh, “Presumptuous, my lord. Perhaps we should dance first, then I will let you know.”

If Anthony could smile wider, he would. Instead, he holds out a hand, the music having introduced a new song as the ballroom fills with dancers again.

With a genuine smile, she places her gloved hand in his, and they move in tandem as she follows after him easily. They fall in line and begin a waltz, circling the other dancers, and he is mindful of not bumping into another couple. However, Kate isn’t a strong dancer. She tramps on his toes, sheepishness coloring her face every time.

It is too silent between them, so Anthony speaks to avoid awkwardness. “I think I understand your previous comments now, Miss Sheffield.”

“What comments would those be?”

“About your sister. Lady Whistledown had a few things to say about it. I have to admit, I think it unusual for a young woman to seek approval from a _sister_ , in regards to her betrothal.”

Kate speaks sardonically, “I’m sure you do.”

He looks at her suspiciously, “Are you insulting me?”

“Only a little…” She laughs at his stunned expression. “I jest, my lord. Honestly, I do understand that it is unusual. However, my sister trusts my judgment, being that I know her better than anyone else. Besides, we have no male familial relations, so it is natural for her to defer to me since I am the oldest.”

“I know exactly what you mean. Well, about being the oldest. My sisters may have something to say about me being deferred to about their suitors.”

She raises a brow, “And you allow that?”

“I’ve learned my lesson.” It’s Kate that laughs loudly this time, her head thrown back. Anthony tries not to grimace after her lack of attention has her misstepping and painfully pinching the side of his big toe.

She speaks as her laughter tapers off, “I am sorry, that was an accident.”

“Why do I find I have difficulty believing you?” She looks affronted before realizing that he was making fun.

She answers with a wicked smile, “Had I a reason to step on your foot on purpose, I would have done so.”

He guffaws before controlling himself, and she blushes as others whisper around them. “I will keep that _threat_ in mind—if I ever decide to dance with you again. I have to admit, it’s not looking very promising.” Anthony’s eyes widen when she makes a mocking face at him before realizing her over-familiarity with the gesture.

Her face reddens further, “Forgive me—”

Anthony is enamored, “No, no, please. I cease to imagine what kind of face you’d make should I actually compliment you.”

Her mouth thins despite the mirth in her eyes, “Are you capable of praise?”

“Not about your dance proficiency, I’m not. Tell me, have you ever been to Rome or Venice? I hear that they purposely use their feet to stomp grapes and make wine. I’m sure it’d be the perfect task to fit your monstrous feet.” He smirks.

“Monstrous!” She purposely stomps on his foot, and he grunts in pain, stepping away and bumping into a couple behind him. They fall out of step, tripping over their feet absurdly. The couple turns to grumble at him, and he is forced to apologize. “Consider my threat honored, my lord.” She speaks with laughter in her voice.

He gapes, “You, Miss Sheffield, are a menace.”

“And you, Lord Bridgerton, need thicker boots.”

They’re stopped in the middle of the ballroom, watching each other with wide smiles as the song comes to an end. He feels bereft as she breaks the spell and steps away. Anthony’s _need_ to touch her again, has him taking her arm and guiding her back to side of the ballroom.

He looks at her earnestly, “Until we see each other again— _Kate?”_

She hums in pleasure at the use of her name, nodding her acceptance at their new found friendship. “I look forward to it, my lord.”

“Please, it’s Anthony.” He speaks gently.

Kate laughs, “ _Anthony.”_

He feels something flutter in his chest at the sound of his name leaving her lips, but he ignores it. He bows courteously, and she returns it with a graceful curtsy.

Anthony turns and walks away, exhaling a shaky breath.

***

Anthony decided against going to White’s. He had been sitting quietly, drinking, pondering, and staring at the walls of his study for awhile, when he hears his mother and siblings finally return home. He’s been living at Bridgerton house for months now, having given up his apartments to Siena. It was supposed to be the both of them together, but it all fell apart before the housing decisions were set in stone. He had even found a nice home on Bruton street for his mother and youngest siblings to move into, so he could settle permanently in Bridgerton house with his wife...

He still bought that house. His mother named it number 5; now, it sits empty, while he keeps his family close. He won’t admit it aloud, but he prefers it this way.

He had kept his study door open, and he sees when his mother moves toward him. She knocks respectfully before walking in. He notes her glassy eyes and laughs softly.

“What?” She asks slyly.

“Did you _enjoy_ yourself tonight mother?”

“Oh stop it, you.” He leans back in his chair, laughing freely, and she smiles. “It is good to hear you laugh Anthony.”

He swallows thickly but keeps a smile, “Did you need something?”

She sits in the chair before his desk. “I was curious. I couldn’t help but notice that you danced with Miss Katharine Sheffield tonight.”

“I did.”

She tilts her head, “Why?”

He looks at his mother playfully, “Were we not at a ball this evening? I thought dancing was encouraged.”

She huffs, “Let me rephrase. Why did you _only_ dance with Miss Sheffield?”

“Uh—” He thinks quickly, “well, I suppose I was simply congratulating her on her great judgment of character.” His mother frowns. He continues, “I came across her while she was effectively refusing Nigel Berbrooke’s intentions on courting her sister, Miss Edwina Sheffield. It was highly enlightening.”

“So you thought it best to ask her to dance?”

“Quite.”

“ _Anthony_ …”

“Mother…”

Violet sighs, “She is out this season, alongside her sister. You are a married man. It would have been sensible had you danced with several women tonight. Dancing with just the one, was careless. I would not have anyone saying anything untoward about her. I’ve met her mother, Mrs. Sheffield; she is lovely. I am sure Miss Katharine is the same. Do be wise, Anthony.”

“It was a dance.”

She nods sagely, “And you know how _unforgiving_ the ton can be.” 

He looks away. “I understand mother.”

“Good. I do hope Miss Sheffield will find a worthy suitor this season. Perhaps even love.”

Anthony grimaces a smile as he turns back to his mother, “ _Perhaps_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m imagining Anjli Mohindra as Kate. I love her, and she has the CUTEST dimple beside her lip when she smiles. I should also note that J.B. follows her on insta. Coincidence? I THINK NOT! 
> 
> Who else has become stalkerish about the Kate casting announcement?!


	3. Jealousy is as Cruel as the Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s midnight, and I have work in the morning, but I was determined to post this. 
> 
> So sorry for this chapter’s delay. I’m from Texas. It froze over a couple of weeks ago, and it has become LITERAL hell, ever since. The will to write was non-existent. I’m back at it though. The remaining chapters should be more frequent in speed. I’m a high school teacher and spring break is next week, so I got time! Oh, and I also added a couple more chapters.
> 
> As I was writing, I quickly realized that this Anthony is much more similar to the tv version. This is also obvious because he did marry Siena because he thought he loved her. Plus, in this version of their love story, Kate has the upper hand. I quite like how it’s all reversed, it lets me play around much more. We all know who has the real control in their relationship anyway. 
> 
> However, nothing will ever beat TVWLM!!! Any similar dialogue in this chapter belongs to JQ!

It’s several weeks into the season, during the Astley Ball, when Anthony has a foreboding realization…

He stands in a group of acquaintances and revelers as the ballroom floor fills with dancers. He’s drained from making small conversation, but he forces himself to act interested. He is distracted once he spots Kate on the arm of _yet another_ of Edwina’s suitors. She meets his eye and makes a show of tugging on her ear and scrunching her nose at him. Anthony chokes on the lemonade he had brought to his lips.

The two of them have a game—when suitors approach Eloise or Edwina, or Kate _because_ of Edwina, they would make eye contact and convey their approval or disapproval of said suitor. The tug of an ear and a scrunched nose is Kate’s telltale sign that the man doesn’t stand a chance with the younger Sheffield sister. A shrug of the shoulder means the man has yet to annoy her; a wink, means the man has potential. When Eloise is approached by an ineligible suitor, Anthony’s sign is a raised brow and a subtle hand drag across the throat. He has yet to learn any other sign as he thinks no man is good enough for his sister. Both he and Kate _love_ this game.

He watches as she is swept across the floor, chortling into his lemonade as she intentionally steps on the toes of the man whose sole focus is to convince her that he is worthy of Edwina’s hand. The man is red-faced as Kate flusters him with a handful of words and several missteps on the dance floor. The song ends, and the man bows and scurries off before Kate has a chance to continue her interrogation of his character. She moves toward Anthony, and he smiles slyly.

“Was I right about the man?” Kate speaks giddily.

“Of Lord Lumley? If you wish for your sister to wed a man who continuously wastes his fortune on gambling, then I say that Edwina has missed out on an ace.”

“I knew it! I’m a great judgment of character, you well know.”

“I do know that; you choose to keep my company—I say you have great judgment indeed.”

She makes a sour face at him, “ _Well_ …I do have some oversight on occasion. I’m just pleased that I’m improving everyday, to say the least.”

Anthony eyes her drolly, “Must you always insult me?”

“ _Of course._ ” She grins smugly.

He bites his cheek to keep from smiling. They watch the ballroom, each on their own mission of surveying the room to look after their sisters.

She pulls him from his focus and speaks softly, “James Shore, the Marquess of Huntly, what do you think of him?” She nods over at the man as he meets her eye and smiles.

Anthony turns his head to her bemusedly, “Me? What do _you_ think of him?”

Kate hesitates, “I-I don’t know.”

He turns his body to give her his full attention, “Our circles are vastly different. I don’t really know him well enough to say a negative word about him, but I have heard that the Marquess of Huntly is a haughty, no nonsense, clean cut sort. He has never married, and he’s also known for never taking part in the yearly season.”

She hums, “Why would you suppose, that he is partaking in it this year? _”_

“Did you not hear about his brother?” Kate shakes her head. “Well, it was known that he’d made his brother his heir. The young man was killed during the Battle of Salamanca; his loss was a devastating blow. The Marquess is obviously in desperate need of a wife to give him a son. If you haven’t noticed, every _out_ woman, has fallen over themselves in his presence—despite the fact that the man is 40 years of age.” Anthony notes her blush, and his look turns curious.“Has he shown an interest in Edwina?”

She looks at him, startled. “Not…exactly.”

He frowns, “Not exactly?”

Kate looks at her hands, “I—well, I think he might be interested…in _me_.”

Anthony speaks in astonishment, “He’s interested in _you?”_

She speaks irritably, “Is that so difficult a concept?”

Anthony feels a pang of regret at the hurt in her voice. “That wasn’t—I didn’t mean…”

Kate rushes out, “I know I’m technically an _out_ woman myself, but I never had any intention of being suited, _married_. I know that these men only look at Edwina. You don’t have to remind me.”

Anthony sighs, “That isn’t even close to what I meant, Kate.”

She looks at him earnestly, “What did you mean then?” 

He feels his palms start to sweat. Anthony cannot let her know…about his _infatuation._ It was terrible; it was borderline punishment. Were he his old self, the infamous _Rake_ , he might’ve tried his hand at seducing her past the point of no return, but he wouldn’t ever do that, not to her...

Because Kate is his friend. She makes him laugh; her wit unlike anything he has ever encountered. She makes him _happy._ He isn’t aware of the last time he had truly felt that. Their friendship has been the balm for the weariness that has consumed him the past year.

He has been attending all of the balls, musicales, picnics in Hyde Park, and shopping trips in Mayfair this season. If anyone asks, Anthony blames it on his need to watch over Eloise, but even he knows, he wasn’t as involved when it came to Daphne last season. Everyone, including Whistledown, had been commenting on his activeness amongst the ton. A reformed rake, turned dutiful viscount and family man. None mention his wife— _neither does he._ Anthony cannot say aloud, that there was a sole purpose for each of these endeavors, and _she was standing right in front of him._

“I only expressed surprise because you have not mentioned that the Marquess has been courting you.” He answers lamely.

“He hasn’t, not necessarily. I’ve only spoken to him twice. At our first meeting and again, when he brought me flowers, not but three days ago.” She smiles softly, obviously remembering the gesture. “No one gives me flowers...”

The idea that no one gives Kate flowers, angers him. The idea that he wasn’t the one to do it for her, has him grinding his teeth in seething _jealousy_. “But he did not speak aloud his intentions?”

She looks up at him curiously, “No. He also brought flowers to Edwina and Mary. Still, he and I took a stroll through Hyde Park after I mentioned that Edwina went for a carriage ride there, with _Berbrooke_. Why she entertains that infernal man, I do not know.”

“Shore only offered to stroll with you after he learned your sister was in Hyde Park?”

Kate blinks at him before she glares, “You think he is after Edwina? Not me?”

“I did not say that!”

“You implied it!”

He feels his agitation boil over, “Why does it matter to you, what I think?”

She steps away, “I thought you were my friend.”

Anthony feels his breath leave him. _I want to be more than that._ He desperately wishes he could say the words aloud. He transforms his features into an impassive mask. They watch each other in silence, the tension thick.

He looks away, to the man that is walking towards them. It’s the Marquess of Huntly, and Anthony has to tighten his fists at his side.

“Miss Sheffield, if I may be so forward, you look lovely this evening.” The Marquess speaks dispassionately, and Anthony’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

The man makes small talk on the weather and the amount of people in the ballroom, and Anthony’s on the verge of rolling his eyes. Kate _giggles_ , and Anthony turns his glare on her. He tunes out the Marquess and watches Kate closely. He feels a fit of pique as she encourages the boring conversation. She was attempting to _flirt_ with the man.

He feels a bubble of resentment on top of his annoyance…

Anthony has had to learn how to hide his infatuation with Kate. He had heeded his mother’s warning and _wised_ up. At balls, Anthony dances and _flirts_ with several women of the ton: widowed, married and maiden—to avoid any gossip against Kate. It was one of the only good things about his marriage to Siena; he could _act_ rakish, by flirting shamelessly, without the repercussions that an unmarried man would potentially face. It never goes any further than a few smoldering looks and whispered words, but he revels in seeing the blush overcome a beautiful woman; their nervous giggles, eyes blown wide with a lust they don’t understand, or _understand all too well_. Each one of them tempted to give in to his innocent seduction. He leaves them with a chaste kiss, on a gloved hand, and they melt before him.

It causes a certain satisfaction in him, knowing that he has that kind of influence over a woman. He feels positively _kingly_.

Which brings him back to his current resentment—his seduction has never worked on Kate, and she sure as hell doesn’t _giggle_. Despite his flirtations with other women, Anthony always tries to save the waltzes for her. He allows her to trod on his toes, if only for a few moments to try and enact his particular talents. Anthony has turned it into a different game than the one he plays with Kate. A game he only plays with himself.

Kate _never_ gives into him. He is always desperate to see the flush on her cheeks or hear the tittering sounds a virtuous woman makes, when you overstep the bounds they are accustomed to. Instead, she’ll roll her eyes, or return his sentiments with sarcasm and a sly quip. He’ll push her further, and she’ll twist her mouth a certain way, as if entertaining a child. It makes him want to take her in his arms and kiss the look off of her face…or try something even more debauched.

Like he does in his dreams, _every night_. The dreams he had been having were absolutely _sinful_. They were indecent, shameless and always arousing. He would wake up in a cold sweat, his hardness straining painfully, sometimes he’d make it _past_ that point, and he’d be shuddering in completion, alone in drenched sheets.

All of this is how the realization hits him…

He cannot stomach watching the Marquess and Kate, as they fumble at courtship, awkwardly. He cannot pretend as if it didn’t bother him. _How could she not see what this was doing to Anthony?_ God knows his jealousy must be obvious to everyone, as he stands there watching them with a glare.

Anthony feels an overwhelming sense of sadness as Kate indulges the man’s inane conversation. Resentfully, he’s tempted to call James Shore, old and boring. Kate cannot want to be wedded to him. Except it would seem that Kate does…otherwise she wouldn’t be _giggling_ and going on strolls in Hyde Park.

If things were different, if Anthony hadn’t been so damn adamant to marry Siena…

He sucks in a breath and tries to shake the thought, but it was too late; the notion is blaring and incessant in his mind. He has to leave the ballroom. Anthony steps away as Kate and the Marquess continue their conversation, completely unaware of his presence.

The sudden realization that it isn’t just _infatuation_ , that he doesn’t just want to _seduce_ Kate—that he wants so much _more_ than that, is overwhelming. He can picture it clearly; Kate as _his wife_. Anthony can see the two of them together, _forever_. Except, it would never _be_ forever. He was still highly in tune with the fact that he was meant to die by 38.

Which, he supposes, makes this entire situation even more ridiculous. Why would he try and claim the woman he had these feelings for—when one: he is married; two: he is meant to die by 38, and he would be leaving her alone; three: between the two of them, he is the only one to have these feelings.

It’s obvious she doesn’t feel the same way; otherwise, she would have given in easily to his charms, not entertaining the feeble wiles of the Marquess. Kate is wholly indifferent to Anthony; he is nothing more than her friend.

Anthony is drowning…

That must be why he feels like he can’t breathe. He pulls on his cravat hurriedly; the material around his neck feeling much too tight. He isn’t sure how long he sits on a settee in the long vestibule of Astley House, but he watches distractedly as people come and go. Eventually, Anthony looks around and sees double doors that look as if they lead to a garden. He stands quickly and finds himself outside, sucking in cold night air. It burns his lungs, and he’s relieved that he feels something other than the rising panic and hopelessness that’s threatening to overwhelm him.

He hears voices moving closer to the double doors, and he groans. He’d rather not be disturbed while he agonizes over stupid feelings and even stupider mistakes— _like getting married_. Really, he should go home and drink, his good brandy is there.

Anthony turns to the doors, planning to ignore the couple coming outside, but he stops short, recognizing Kate and the Marquess. _Shit. Fuck._ He isn’t sure if he should keep moving or turn back and hide.

He spots a tall hedge and is about to run behind it when he realizes that the Marquess has Kate outside, _alone_. Anthony stands there watching as they move deeper into the garden. They don’t see him yet, so he moves into their focus; his anger palpable.

Kate sees him first, and she looks at him in relief. “Anthony!” Her face transforms to worry. “Are you alright? _You left so suddenly_...your cravat is all askew—” She reaches out to fix it but stops short, realizing the gesture was too familiar.

“ _Anthony_?” The Marquess speaks his name oddly, looking between the two of them with an indiscernible expression.

She huffs awkwardly, “Lord Bridgerton is a great friend of mine, my lord—and his name _is_ Anthony.” She looks at him with wide eyes, as if telling him to say something.

Luckily, Anthony has plenty to say. “It’s a lovely night. Is there a reason the two of you are out here, _alone_?”

The Marquess splutters, “Miss Sheffield was feeling warm in the ballroom; I was simply escorting her for some fresh air.”

“ _Oh, I am sure you were_.” Anthony speaks lecherously. He looks to Kate and sees the hurt in her eyes, and he almost apologizes.

“How dare you! Miss Sheffield is a high born lady, and she doesn’t deserve to be treated with such disrespect!”

Anthony scoffs, “I wasn’t disrespecting _her!”_

Kate speaks angrily, “You disrespect me by alluding to what I think you are alluding to. You ought to bite your tongue, Lord Bridgerton.”

Anthony looks at her wildly, “And ladies ought to know better than luring unmarried men into the night.” Kate gasps.

“This man is your friend?” The Marquess speaks disbelievingly.

“ _Maybe not._ ” Kate speaks quietly. They watch each other, and he knows his hurt reflects hers. Anthony tastes blood in his mouth, and he realizes that he _had_ actually bit his tongue. “I think I’m feeling much better, my lord. Perhaps, Lord Bridgerton is right. It was foolish to come out here. I apologize.” She looks to the Marquess, ignoring Anthony.

The Marquess speaks with a haughty air, “There is no need to apologize. I detest that your comfort was ruined, Miss Sheffield. I’d be pleased to escort you back inside.” The man looks at Anthony, his nose upturned, and he turns away, waiting for Kate to join him.

Anthony reaches out for Kate, grabbing her upper arm. She tries to pull away from his grasp, but he tightens his hold. “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, trying to pull away again. “Kate I’m sorry, _please_.”

She looks at him sadly, “I was worried after you left so quickly. Why are you being so mean?”

Anthony drops his head shamefully, “Kate, I—”

“Is there a problem here?” James Shore was waiting by the double doors, watching them curiously.

Anthony works his jaw in a fit of rage, “This is none of your business, and I’m speaking to Miss Sheffield.”

“You accuse her of luring men out into the night, but it is you that has his hands all over her.” The older man looks at him with disgust. Anthony realizes that he has both hands gripping her by the arms, and he drops them like dead weight. “You may fool everyone else in the ton, but your reputation as a rake will always proceed you, Lord Bridgerton. You are a married man after all. Fortunately, I believe Miss Sheffield is a sensible woman; she hasn’t any intention of falling for the likes of _you_.”

Anthony bristles in rage, and he tries to step to the man, but Kate blocks his way. She hisses, “Stop it, Anthony!” 

The Marquess of Huntly scoffs, “But perhaps I am wrong—there is that address of informality again. _Do be wise, Miss Sheffield_.” The man turns to leave but stops short, turning back. “I assume you wish to keep this between us? I am a man of honor, and I have no intention of ruining a lady’s reputation, by any means—I wonder if Lord Bridgerton can say the same on both points?” He walks back into Astley House, leaving them alone.

It’s dark out, but Anthony can see the shock in Kate’s features. “Don’t listen to him, Kate.”

She turns to him abruptly, “What is wrong with you?!”

“ _Me?!_ He’s the one accusing you of being wanton!”

“You did it first!”

Anthony backs away, his hands raised at the realization. “I-I didn’t mean it that way!”

Kate follows him, “You said I lured him out here—what else could you have possibly meant?!”

“I was—I thought he brought you out here! When he said differently—I—I got angry, and I acted wretched!”

“Angry?! Whatever for?!” He stared at her, unable to confess the truth. “You really hurt me, Anthony. What were you thinking?” Anthony remained silent and watched as her sadness turned to anger. “God save me from useless men!” She blasphemed and turned to walk away.

Anthony didn’t want her to walk away. He wasn’t sure if he could stand her being upset with him. He grabbed her by the arm, spinning her back toward him. She crashed into his chest and grabbed his forearms to balance herself. Anthony sucked in a breath at their closeness, her smell of soap and lilies, intoxicating. He looks down at her widened eyes and crushes his lips against hers. Kate is stiff beneath him, and he tries to coax her into the kiss by licking the seam of her lips. She gasps, and he tangles his tongue with hers. Her hesitance melts away, and her hands thread through his hair. He groans as she scratches at his scalp.

Anthony traverses her curves, and the feminine feel of them as they mold perfectly in his hands, makes him hard. She pulls at the strands of his hair, and he is wild with want. He grabs her backside, pushing against his arousal, and he moves his lips down her jaw to her neck, laving at her pulse point; it thuds heavily against his tongue, and the urge to bite and leave his mark for all to see, is overwhelming.

Kate pants and mewls heavily in his ear, and he’s almost tempted to push her to the ground and have her in the garden. Instead, he shoves her against the tall hedge. “Oh Kate, God, you taste so good.”

She speaks dazedly, “ _Anthony_?”

He tries to reach her lips again, but she turns her head away.

“Don’t. Don’t turn away from me.” He whispers tightly.

He recognizes the moment she gets her bearings and pushes on his chest. Anthony lets her go, stepping away reluctantly.

“Why did you do that?” She speaks tremulously.

“I don’t have an excuse, other than, I wanted to.” He lets out a deep breath.

“But, you can’t have! Anthony, you’re married! And you’re my friend!” Anthony feels her words like a blow to the chest. He feels an anger burning through him. Not at Kate, never her. _He’s angry with himself._ Anthony moves farther away, unable to speak or make an excuse. “Are you not going to say anything?!”

“I’m sorry.” He speaks feebly.

She huffs, “I don’t want an apology; I want an answer!”

Anthony hears laughter near the doors and realizes how foolish he’d acted. They could have been caught, and that would have been the end of her good reputation. He’d never forgive himself. That feeling of hopelessness returns, and he speaks gently, “We need to get you inside. You don’t need to be out here alone with me.”

Kate digs her slippers into the ground, as he tries to shuffle her to the doors. “Don’t you dare! I’m not leaving until you talk to me!”

“I have nothing to say to you!” Anthony roars. He can see her eyes filling with tears, and he feels like the worst person alive.

“The Marquess was right, your reputation as a rake will always proceed you! You cannot even justify what you’ve done; other than, you wanted to! Is that what you’ve wanted all along? You pretended to be my friend and hoped I’d give you what you wanted?! You have no honor!”

He speaks lethally, “That is not true, and if you were a man, I’d call you out for it.” Anthony moves in closer, “ _You kissed me back_.”

Her breath shudders, “ _Why_ did you kiss me?”

Anthony works his jaw, “It’s as you say, I’m a rake. It’s in my nature.”

“Liar.”

“You cannot have it both ways, Kate. You accuse me of being a rake and now I’m a liar after I agree with you. How does that make sense?”

Kate stifles a sob. “Fine. You are a rake. Which means you were never really my friend.” She pushes past him.

He speaks quietly, his back turned away from her. “I can’t stop thinking about you—dreaming about you. I kissed you because I wanted to—because the idea of you kissing anyone else makes me unreasonably angry. I accused you of being wanton with the Marquess because I was jealous. I am your friend Kate, but I want to be more.”

He turns to look at her, and she is watching him, surprisingly resigned. “This cannot be, Anthony. You are married, and you have no right to be jealous or angry.”

“It’s how I feel.” He shrugs lackadaisically.

She glares, “Well, don’t.”

Anthony scoffs, and it’s his turn to brush past her. “We’ve been out here too long, and the Marquess knows. I’m sure your mother is concerned about where you are.”

He continues his march back into the ballroom, uncaring if she followed after. Anthony is almost past the vestibule, the ballroom blocked only by an ornate panel wall. He feels her tug on his arm, hiding them behind the wall.

“You cannot be my friend and expect more from me. I am no mistress, and I never will be.” Kate speaks determinedly.

Anthony laughs bitterly, “Just because you _won’t_ , doesn’t mean you don’t _want_ to be.”

Kate rolls her eyes, “Don’t flatter yourself, Anthony.”

Anthony grits out, “ _You kissed me back_.” He grins smugly, “Admit to me that it meant nothing to you.” He feels the tension cresting between them, as her breathing picks up, and she stares at his mouth.

Anthony is almost satisfied, but his frustration doesn’t allow it completely. Instead, he moves past her again, into the ballroom.

The intrusiveness of noise and revelry catches him off guard. He blinks rapidly, looking around, trying to get his bearings. He catches a scene in his peripheral. It was Cressida Cowper and a handful of her minions. They’d singled out Penelope Featherington at the lemonade table, and it was obvious the girl was near tears.

“Anthony!” Kate calls to him, and he ignores her. His anger is still bubbling on the surface of his emotions, and he sees a perfect opportunity. Kate speaks exasperatedly, “Where are you going?”

Anthony can feel Kate on his heels as he reaches the small crowd that surrounds Cressida and Penelope. He reaches the tail end of the former’s attack on the latter, and his irritation doubles.

Cressida sees him and smiles madly, “Lord Bridgerton, join us! I was just complimenting Miss Featherington on her yellow dress. It blends in so well with her sallow skin. She looks positively…oh, how should I describe it? Well, Miss Featherington, you look simply ill.” Her eyes narrow as she eyes Penelope. “Don’t you think, Lord Bridgerton?” Cressida turns and blinks at him innocently, but there is a feverishness in her eyes, taking absolute pleasure in ridiculing Penelope.

He gapes at this woman’s audacity. Anthony is moments away from hurting Cressida’s feelings by annihilating her with his words. Her uncouth callousness is absolutely appalling, but he realizes the only way to help Penelope is to extract her from this situation entirely.

His anger dissipates, and he chooses to ignore Cressida. He turns to Penelope, “Miss Featherington, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to honor me with a dance?”

She blinks at him owlishly, before quickly recognizing what he was doing for her. She sighs in relief, “Please, it is _my honor_ , Lord Bridgerton.”

He smiles slyly, “I beg to differ; it is my last dance, and I only thought to share it with you.” He hears the exaggerated gasp of Cressida, and he is tempted to roll his eyes.

Penelope blushes and titters, and he keeps his focus on her, grinning with his teeth. It helps take his mind off of what just happened with Kate. His emotions having gone erratic and uncontrollable. Anthony tries to focus on Penelope only. Her reaction to his flirtations was what he would have liked from Kate all of the times he tried to flirt with her. However, with sweet Penelope, it is a satisfying close second; he does love flirting, after all. If Colin were near by, he knows he’d be staring daggers at him. His brother was absolutely mindless of his infatuation with Miss Featherington. Penelope gives him her hand, and they move to the center of the ballroom.

The dance between them is graceful, despite their difference in height. They don’t make much small talk, but she thanks him for his removing her from such an awful situation. He acquiesces with a quiet humbleness. Penelope doesn’t question his mute disposition, and he’s grateful that she recognizes that his mind is far away.

Regretfully, he admits to himself that he shouldn’t have kissed Kate, and he shouldn’t have admitted his feelings.

The dance ends, and Anthony escorts her off of the floor, where Kate waits for them. Cressida and her crowd, having long gone. Kate smiles gently at them.

She focuses on him and speaks hesitantly, “What of my waltz, my lord?” She points to her wrist, “Your name is right here, on my dance card, yet you never claimed it.”

Anthony wants to sigh in relief, only gladdened to not see anger in Kate’s expression. He knows he acted foolishly. He knows she would wish to continue to speak about what happened, but he would rather avoid it, if she is just going to tell him that it did, in fact, mean nothing to her.

He bows, “I beg your forgiveness Miss Sheffield, perhaps you would be so kind as to dance an extra dance with me at the next ball?” The gentle smile remains on her face, and she nods. Penelope still stands there, and Anthony notices the sly expression on her face, and he frowns at her.

Kate speaks again, “Mary and Edwina are waiting for me. I thought to say goodbye before I left.”

“Oh! Will we see all of you next week?” Penelope asks excitedly.

Anthony remembers that they were all meant at Aubrey Hall next week; it was his mother’s idea. His heart races, waiting on Kate’s answer.

“I believe you will. Mary is thrilled at the prospect; she adores Lady Bridgerton.”

“My mother feels the same.” He speaks softly.

Kate’s smile brightens, and she reaches over to kiss Penelope’s cheek, saying goodnight. She turns back to him, “Will you escort me to the carriage?”

“I’d be honored.” He turns to Penelope, “Thank you again for the dance, Miss Featherington.” He bows, and she titters once more before curtseying.

Kate takes his arm, and they walk out of the ballroom. “You are the nicest man in London.” She says it gently.

“Am I? I thought you said I was mean, earlier.” She huffs, and Anthony grins in good-nature. “Besides, surely you mean dangerous…” she snorts. “Or perhaps, handsome?”

She shakes her head, “Dangerous? No.” Kate leans in and whispers, “Handsome? Yes. Being so nice helps you tremendously.” He scoffs. “It’s true; you were quite the hero with Miss Featherington. Penelope isn’t the only one Cressida likes to single out. You should have heard the gossip. You left almost every woman in close proximity watching your heroics, swooning. The men were furious at how quickly the women’s attentions were diverted!” He looks away. “My lord, are you blushing?” He bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “My goodness, you’re positively red! Perhaps _you_ will swoon for _me_?” Kate stops them to twist her skirts and leans heavily on his chest, pressing a hand to her forehead. He gives in, and laughs at her dramatics. She pulls away and looks up at him with bright eyes as they continue their walk.

Anthony smiles widely; he had just lost the game that he’d been playing against himself. He couldn’t make her blush or giggle, but _she had been able to do it to him._

They are nearing the front of the house where the Sheffield carriage awaits. Anthony stops and looks at her earnestly, “I’m sorry—”

Kate shakes her head, “Don’t. Please don’t apologize. It was—” Her words die out, and she looks overwhelmed. He wants to ask what it meant for her, being that he knows that the kiss, for him, meant _everything._

He sucks in a breath, “I acted mindlessly. I would never do anything to hurt you. I would see you happy, Kate. You know that, don’t you?” Anthony speaks with a quiet desperation.

“ _I know_.” Kate bites her lip, and he watches it avidly.

She looks around them, and he follows her movements in confusion. There is a footman turned away from them, by the entrance, but everyone else is still reveling in the ballroom…

Kate reaches up and brushes her lips to his, before turning and racing down the steps of Astley Hall—leaving Anthony staring after her in shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all aren’t too disappointed that I took away the serpentine scene or that I gave the flower storyline to the Marquess. I also put their 1st kiss in the garden. I know it’s very Simon and Daphne, but I didn’t know how to get Kate and the Marquess in a study without it seeming dubious.
> 
> It’s an AU—it is what it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my tumblr @deathinasmalltown


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